tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post6689008422838850328..comments2016-12-09T11:47:52.410-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Amy Gerstler: Fuck You Poem # 45Zephirinenoreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-20818602327600309122012-09-09T04:00:59.129-07:002012-09-09T04:00:59.129-07:00Thanks for this. Reminds me of Koch&#39;s &quot;Sl...Thanks for this. Reminds me of Koch&#39;s &quot;Sleeping with Women&quot;... technically, of course. Good to hear of Amy Gerstler again. Where has she been all this while: sleeping under Santa Monica pier? Strong poem! <br /><br />J TranterJ Tranterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04893475209555207263noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-74680479459556206822012-09-08T16:31:26.594-07:002012-09-08T16:31:26.594-07:00I see they do not list
any Cream of Tartar
in this...I see they do not list<br />any Cream of Tartar<br />in this concoction<br />but it certainly rises<br />to the important occasion<br />of September 7th<br />requiring just<br />a small amount of instant<br />plus the chips.Susan Kay Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-75477846992273891062012-09-08T10:07:53.061-07:002012-09-08T10:07:53.061-07:00Hazen,
Our last forlorn hope.
Susan,
The Septe...Hazen,<br /><br />Our last forlorn hope.<br /><br /><br />Susan,<br /><br />The September 7th cake, that is the mere contemplation of it, made it seem worth living until September 8th. And then 9th and so on.<br /><br />At the critical point, our sides DID buckle a bit... yet we did not worry.<br /><br />Had we only been fortified with a suitable range of pan-racks, things might well have turned out differently.<br /><br />&quot;If you have a turntable for decorating cakes or a lazy Susan, place the cake plate on it.&quot;<br /><br />A lazy Susan, one thing we do not have to worry about!TChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-56402492599438987982012-09-07T21:43:22.791-07:002012-09-07T21:43:22.791-07:00Let us cut to the cake
let it chase us
all night l...Let us cut to the cake<br />let it chase us<br />all night long<br />daring the words<br /> darling.Susan Kay Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-41596946875087901502012-09-07T15:27:40.323-07:002012-09-07T15:27:40.323-07:00September 7th Cake
recipe:
http://web.missouri.e...September 7th Cake<br /><br />recipe:<br /><br />http://web.missouri.edu/~jcmfy2/recipes/September_7th_Cake.htmlSusan Kay Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-2945700615627132542012-09-07T15:23:15.598-07:002012-09-07T15:23:15.598-07:00It was smooth sailing to the Isle of the Dead. I ...It was smooth sailing to the Isle of the Dead. I did not really care for their music but this was not the main thing about it. Mostly, it was very quiet, the water like glass, the cedars had grown quite large. They said there was no room for my bones, not even a small corner. It was so small. I saw some monks’ cells carved into the cliff. Well, if there grew corn here and finagled irrigation ditches then there were possibilities not apparent at first glance. I grew hopeful. That happens a lot at the end. Exhausting anticipation, regrets about grammar, and all the rest.Susan Kay Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-75748148772488246452012-09-07T14:59:26.448-07:002012-09-07T14:59:26.448-07:00A fucked up commitment
when I signed on
to excava...A fucked up commitment<br />when I signed on <br />to excavate the ancient items <br />&amp; all<br />little wrapped up mummies--<br />static, mumbling, blind <br />even Gran Apacheria--<br /><br />yes that sort of mood<br />my poems<br /><br />I chased them here and there<br />but ultimately did not want<br />to catch up to them.<br />Because then what? Fucked.<br /><br />Who was that person<br />that wrote them<br />or is it whom?<br />How<br />to decide this<br />who is it that<br /> stares at the collection<br />gathering dust.<br /> <br />To fuck with a mummy<br />is said to bring bad luck<br />the curse and all<br />breaking it.<br />Egypt gets very mad.<br /><br />I see I am the mummy<br />all dressed up<br />eye makeup<br />various signs on outer surfaces<br />pointing the way<br />(a jawbone in the wrong place)<br /><br />to more stones<br />they have become my eyes<br />a stone is in my ear<br />the pillow they gave me<br />was certainly not large enough<br /><br />you can guess the rest<br />it was not quite restful<br />turning into a stone<br />so I rowed to the island<br /><br />more graves! Can you imagine<br />it looked inviting enough<br />with all the mummies banished<br /> boats with special oars<br />I thought I saw some of my poems<br />in these little boats<br />or were they anchors?Susan Kay Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-482847580489347662012-09-07T10:21:20.773-07:002012-09-07T10:21:20.773-07:00Well okay then
let us cut
as they say
to the chase...Well okay then<br />let us cut<br />as they say<br />to the chase.<br />We are well and truly fucked <br />until<br />in conclusion<br />we can hope to be <br />well and truly forgiven.Hazenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13417573435195561519noreply@blogger.com